


Four Birthdays

by tanwenmc



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hypnotism, Masturbation, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Obsession, Public Claiming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/pseuds/tanwenmc
Summary: Jafar is obsessed with Jasmine above and beyond as a means to power, and he takes steps to ensure that she will never marry anyone but him.





	Four Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dread_persephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dread_persephone/gifts).



Jasmine would always remember the moment things changed between them.

For so many years, Jafar had been by her father's side, almost seeming to loom over the sultan. He was always polished and in control, always the most loyal servant a sultan could ever ask for. For so many years he ignored her as unimportant, a mere child despite being her father's only heir.

It was her eighteenth birthday, and the first of her suitors showed up unannounced. Her tutors had told her that was likely to be the case — the desperate ones would come early, with not much beyond themselves, hoping that she would fall madly in love with one of them and convince her father that they should wed.

The gown she wore had been commissioned just for this occasion, a deep scarlet creation that clung tightly to her body. Having so many eyes on her made her nervous and hyper-aware. The first suitor approached, a minor noble from somewhere she'd never heard of. He was only a few years older than her but seemed much younger, almost painfully naive. Her many long years of lessons kicked in and she dealt with him as graciously as she was able.

The noble, whose name she forgot almost immediately, bowed his head and went to mingle with the others. He was surrounded almost immediately by other ladies of the court, and Jasmine had to smile. He'd never expected to win her hand. He'd expected to make an impression on someone more attainable.

Jasmine looked over at her father, hoping she might share the jest with him, and caught Jafar staring at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. Her cheeks flared with embarrassment and she turned away, doing her best to reclaim her dignity. He hadn't looked at her like she was an annoying child. He'd looked at her like she was an attractive woman.

It made her uneasy and even more watchful.

More suitors journeyed to the palace, in the days and weeks that followed. Somewhat to her surprise, Jafar helped to send the especially unsuitable ones packing. She would have done it herself, given the chance. She tried to figure out why; he surely wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart or anything so sentimental.

It took her a few days of deliberate eavesdropping before she got an answer, and even then, she wasn't convinced it was a _full_ answer. She had been walking by the throne room when she saw that Jafar and her father were there, having an animated discussion about —

"I expected her to be choosy, but not you, Jafar," her father said.

"Do you not think that I am also concerned about the future of this kingdom? Have I not served it faithfully all these years?"

"Of course, of course!" Her father waved his arms.

"Then give me some credit, my lord. These men that come to pay court to Jasmine — none of them are worthy of her time. None of them bring anything extraordinary to the table, merely the ability to sire children on Jasmine. And if that is the only condition for wedding Jasmine, then noble blood is not required. Any idiot off the street could get her pregnant."

Jasmine bristled a little at that description, even though she'd heard something similar most of her life. As a royal woman, her highest responsibility was to bear children. She really shouldn't have been surprised that it was all Jafar saw in her.

She backed away, hoping that neither of them had taken note of her presence.

Months passed; her nineteenth birthday approached. Her father pestered her on the choice of a husband. None of the ones that made it past Jafar succeeded in catching her eye.

"By law," her father insisted angrily, two days before her birthday, "you must be married by the time you turn twenty one!"

"That is _two years_ from now, Father."

"Royal weddings take time to plan!"

"Not two years."

"Two days, two years — Jasmine, you will _never_ decide!"

Jasmine smiled. "Then we shall _decide_ that I will be married on my twenty-first birthday. We can begin planning a suitable amount of time ahead, and I will have a groom by then."

"Bah." Her father waved a hand. "Not if you and Jafar keep this up. You're not conspiring, are you? I didn't think you cared for him."

Jasmine wasn't quite sure how to take that. She settled for indignant. "No, Father, we are _not_ conspiring. Jafar has his own reasons for doing what he does."

Her father gave an indignant _humph_ and let the subject drop, though Jasmine knew they were not done with it.

On the night of her nineteenth birthday, she turned down five separate suitors. They had each brought elaborate gifts in an attempt to win her favor. She didn't protest when two of them took the gifts back before scuttling away in embarrassment. Jasmine had to smile, sipping at her wine as she watched the last one flee.

"If you keep this up, Princess, there will hardly be an eligible noble left within five hundred miles," Jafar said.

"The law states that I must marry a man of distinguished and noble blood." Jasmine took another sip, avoiding looking at him. "But does not define either of those characteristics. My own 'noble blood' qualifies me to rule after my father, but there are many aspects to leadership." She had thrown that fact back at her tutors when they tried to convince her to choose a husband. "And having noble blood is not a prerequisite for said aspects of leadership."

"Well spoken, Princess."

Whatever wine the palace kitchens had found was quite a good one, Jasmine thought as she finished the goblet. The world seemed somehow heightened around her, the tapestries on the walls seeming colorful even in dim light. Rajah was snoring when she entered her chambers. Jasmine smiled as she stroked his head. He must be exhausted from his own special dinner.

She stepped away and began to remove her gown. The warm night air felt good against her skin. She ran an experimental hand across the flat of her stomach. Her own touch sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. That was new, but not unwelcome.

Jasmine's hands drifted slowly upwards until she was cupping her own breasts, fingers pressing gently into those oh-so-sensitive spots. Her knees were starting to feel weak, so she paused long enough to get to her bed. Still naked, she resumed touching herself, running a finger across a peaked nipple. She grew bolder, squeezing her breasts in a manner that trod the fine line between pleasure and pain. It was exhilarating in a way nothing else in her life had ever been.

But it was not enough. She spread her legs apart and touched the area between her legs, surprised to find herself quite wet. The thought was discarded in an instant, her fingers touching, exploring her sensitive folds. She was quickly lost in a haze of desire, her body demanding more and more.

Her fingers finally came to rest on a little bundle of nerves deep inside her and she cried aloud in ecstasy. Her hand moved mindlessly, her body responding in the same manner. She sought only to make this unbelievable experience as long and good as was possible. The rest of the world was forgotten. Unimportant.

After an eternity, she lay still on the bed, her fingers coated with her own juices. She was drained in a rather pleasant way, torn between drifting off to sleep and enjoying the afterglow while it was still there. Her eyes were half-open.

And then there was light.

A soft red glow that filled her vision, opening her eyes and washing the fatigue away. _Light._ Swirling, glowing red light. She was drowning in it.

"Open your mind," a voice whispered in her ear. "Open your mind and let the light in."

She knew that voice. _Jafar._ He was in her bedchamber, he had — had he _seen_ her?!

Jasmine fought the lassitude of the glowing red light, pushing the edges of it away so that she could understand what was _happening_. She saw the source of the light, the staff that Jafar always carried with him. She had thought it was just a staff. But she now recognized the unmistakable feeling of magic emanating out from it; the eyes emitting that warm and wonderful light. It was hard to keep her mind away from being sucked into the spell.

"Ah, you are a strong one." Jafar kissed the side of her neck. Her mind thought it was an invasion; her body… her body, which she had thought was drained, was awake again and demanding _more_.

"But you'll not be fighting this. The drug is perfect. It brings such sensual delights and leaves the subject so very, very — _suggestible._ " He kissed her neck again, lingering, his tongue caressing her skin. She shivered. It was the first movement she'd been able to make since the light entered her mind.

"You are tired, Jasmine, so tired." Fatigue hit her hard in the wake of those words. Her eyes started to close. _No!_ She forced herself to keep them open, although — she didn't know _why —_

"That orgasm felt so good, it's made you so relaxed. Every part of you is relaxed."

Jafar. Why was Jafar in her bedchamber?

"So tired. So relaxed." A hand cupped her breast, and she sighed involuntarily. "That's right. Let go, Jasmine. Surrender to this."

Her lids fluttered. Yes. Let go. Too good. Too good to fight it.

"Surrender to _me._ "

Jasmine closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.

* * *

Jafar felt the instant that his spell overtook Jasmine's will. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching down and stroking his erection. Seeing her here, like this — wholly caught up in the magic that would subvert her will — it was everything he'd been dreaming of, been working towards for the past year.

He muttered a few words under his breath, strengthening the spell that kept his desire penned. He would not spill his seed unless it was in her body. It would cheapen the victory otherwise.

The staff still hovered over Jasmine's lovely, naked body, snake eyes still pouring the mind-altering magic directly into her mind. Jafar had a moment of regret for not having started down this path sooner. He pushed it away; he was not a man who dwelt on what was past.

Before that night, exactly one year ago, Jasmine had been an inconvenience, someone who could threaten his position. He'd paid her little mind; she didn't have any power until she reached her majority, and turning eighteen was only the start of it. Royal Heirs such as her were not fully recognized until they wed.

And then he'd seen her, proud and confident in a breathtaking red gown, and the world had shifted around him.

He'd known she would have to marry. He had thought to influence whatever sop she chose as a way of ensuring that he stayed at the right hand of this country's ruler. That night, the very night she reached her majority, he had resolved that _he_ would be the one to marry her. There was no person more fitting to be his bride and bear his children.

Jafar ran his hands across Jasmine's body, delighting in how she shivered beneath his touch. The staff's magic had sent her waking mind to sleep, leaving only the unconscious mind, the little voice in the back of one's head that would not be ignored, the instinct that told her what to believe and who to trust.

Although trust was still some time off, given her reactions when he had commanded the staff to shine in her eyes. That was all right. He could earn her trust, so long as she paid attention to him. What he was about to do would ensure that a part of her mind was always centered on him. A part that could be very hard to ignore.

He brought out a small flask that contained another dose of the aphrodisiac he'd slipped in her drink earlier that night. A much more potent dose. Jafar propped Jasmine's head up with one hand, sliding the liquid into her mouth with the other. She squirmed, her hands clutching the sheets. Jafar smiled, running his hands up the insides of her legs.

"You desire Jafar," he told her, his voice soft and silky, as he sent a pulse of power through the staff. "You are aroused in Jafar's presence. You are aroused by Jafar's touch." He regretted that it took all his concentration to keep the magic going, to ensure that his words would sink into her receptive mind. He was feeling more than a little bit of desire himself. _Not yet. You have waited this long. Just a little longer._

Jafar disrobed as he repeated those sentences to her, building a link between _Jafar_ and _arousal,_ the aphrodisiac ensuring a consistent flow of the latter. It was an effort to maintain the discipline of repetition when he saw her body reacting strongly to those words. Her mouth was parted, her breath coming shallow and fast. "You desire Jafar. You are aroused in Jafar's presence. You are aroused by Jafar's touch." His world narrowed to the words he spoke and the effect they were having on Jasmine. He felt as transfixed as she, noting every movement of her hips, hearing every wanton sound that escaped her lips.

Jafar fell silent only when she orgasmed again, needing to divert some of his intense concentration to the spell that continued to keep his own arousal in check. The other bit of magic he'd laid upon himself, a spell of sterility, needed no maintenance, thankfully. He would remove it on their wedding night. He did not care to give the game away ahead of time by getting her with child.

Jasmine collapsed onto the bed, sweat beading on her forehead. Jafar touched the spell, twisting the magic. Time to see if his plans had been effective. "Whom do you desire, Princess?"

Her answer was a long time in coming. "I … no … n-no one. No one."

He sighed. Of course she would not give in so easily. Not Jasmine. He admired her strength; it was part of why he was taking such a roundabout way of breaking her to his will. Brute force would leave her a witless puppet. He'd seen that with his early attempts. They'd fetched a fair price, though.

Jafar caressed her legs, noting the shiver that ran through her body at the touch. "Whom do you desire?"

There was no answer this time. Perhaps that was a good sign. Jafar kissed her, slow and gentle, using what spare energy he had to strengthen the spell that blanketed her mind. His hand trailed down her side, his touch light. When he finally broke the kiss, she was flushed and panting. "Whom do you desire?"

"I … I …" Jafar waited, but she failed to finish the thought. Ah, she was so close!

He shifted, spreading those glorious legs of hers apart, caressing the edges of her wet cunt. "Whom," he said, his voice low, rich, "do you desire?"

"Jafar." His name had never sounded so sweet in her mouth, her voice breathy and mindless.

He needed to be sure. He shifted, the tip of his erection replacing his fingertips. "Princess Jasmine, whom do you desire?"

"I desire Jafar." He let out a near-shout of triumph, entering her. "Jafar," she said again, when he thrust into her. "Jafar."

He let the spell that kept his arousal penned fade, just a little. He knew that if he dropped it entirely, he would spend himself then and there, and he wanted to savor this, their first time together. His hands roamed across her body, his head bent to kiss the side of her neck again and again. She pushed herself against him, hands reaching, grasping his back and pulling him downward. Jafar reveled in the feel of her soft body against his. He knew it wouldn't be long before his control slipped entirely. He would be lost in her, in the sounds she was making, the heat of her body, the way she made him feel…

The spell keeping his desires in check vanished, and he wasn't sure whether the roaring he heard was entirely in his own mind or not. He gripped her body tightly, fingers digging into her skin. Jasmine's mouth was open, her breathing shallow and ragged. Jafar thrust into her over and over again. " _Mine,_ " he hissed. "You are _mine,_ Jasmine. No other shall have you."

It was almost certainly coincidence that she began to orgasm after he said those words, but he chose to view it as a sign of things to come.

* * *

Something had changed.

Jasmine knew it as soon as she woke, her body still hot and flushed from the overwhelmingly erotic dreams that had sped her through the night. She knew she had never experienced anything like that before. All of her previous pleasure she brought to herself had been with thoughts of an imagined man, her perfect prince — someone who would respect and cherish her for who she was, and not the power she provided to him.

This felt more … _solid_. As though there had been a real person in the dreams, though she could not have said who. She decided it was an improvement.

Jasmine swung out of bed and walked over, sinking next to Rajah and petting his silky fur. The tiger opened sleepy eyes and nuzzled her before giving a yawn and resting his head on the floor once more. "Are you feeling well?" she asked, but he only gave a loud snort in response. She sighed. If it kept up, she'd have someone come to look at him.

She went about her usual morning routine, summoning her attendants to wash and dress her, before she went to the Great Hall to join her father for breakfast. To her surprise and annoyance, Jafar was with him.

"Good morning, Father," she said, kissing his cheek before taking her place across the table from him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Too much wine," her father grunted, shaking his head. "I slept too well, apparently."

Jasmine shook her head. "You have to be more careful, Father. You know it goes straight to your head."

The Sultan grumbled and resumed his breakfast. Jasmine smiled in thanks as a servant brought a plate over for her, then tucked in. She was oddly hungry.

"Did you sleep well, Princess?" Jafar asked. Jasmine paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, slowly raising her head to look at him. Could he … no, he couldn't possibly know _how_ her night had gone.

"Perfectly well, thank you, Jafar." There was an odd fluttering in her belly as she returned her attention to her food. Some after-effect of her erotic dreams, no doubt, making her see every eligible man as handsome and desirable. She resolved to ignore it.

Jasmine escaped the awkward breakfast as soon as she was able, making the excuse that she needed to tend to Rajah. It felt as though Jafar watched her every move as she exited the room, but surely that was just her imagination.

Rajah improved the next day, and Jasmine was able to put aside her concern for him. She could not, however, put aside her growing awareness of Jafar. She _knew_ that he was watching her every move when they were in the room together, and it made her uneasy.

In more ways than one. For while part of her was wondering what scheme her father's vizier was cooking up this time, another part was reveling in the attention. It was stupid. This was _Jafar_. He had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, always at her father's side. She had never truly trusted him. He was always so quick to assert that he just wanted to do what was best for the kingdom, always had an excuse ready when accused of impropriety.

And yet…

It became very hard to avoid staring at _him_. She would not have called him handsome, but there was something about him that was drawing her in. The slick confidence that had unnerved her now sent a thrill shooting through her. She watched him be charming and confident, flirting shamelessly with the unmarried ladies of the court.

"Are you going to take a wife, Jafar?" her father asked one night over dinner. Yet another failed suitor of hers had departed that morning. Jafar had nearly reduced him to tears with his relentless questions about how best he would run Agrabah as Jasmine's husband. "I would have sworn you had no interest in such matters, but it appears you are showing a different side of yourself recently."

Jafar kept his gaze squarely on her father as he answered, and Jasmine was suddenly sure that was a deliberate decision. Her heart began to pound faster for no reason at all. "Should I find an … appropriate person to share my life with, I would gladly wed. But I fear I have high standards. She must be intelligent as well as beautiful, someone who seeks a partner instead of a protector."

"Ahhh," the Sultan replied, leaning back in his chair. "Jasmine's mother was one such as you describe, so I can only approve of those high standards." He shook his head. "I curse the illness that took her from us too soon."

"Indeed." Jafar returned his focus to his dinner. "But so far, none of the ladies at court have even come close to my heart's desire. I fear it will take an extraordinary woman to claim my attention."

Jasmine looked at his long, elegant neck and wondered what it would feel like to kiss it. She shook her head, wondering where such a thought could possibly have come from. She had no desire for Jafar.

 _Not true,_ a part of her whispered. _You are aroused in Jafar's presence._

She realized, after a while, that she was staring at Jafar, and that her hand was moving to part her skirts. The two were not unconnected. Realizing what she had been about to do, she shook her head once more and looked at her nearly empty plate, hoping that she had not been caught at it.

As though from a great distance, she heard her father bidding Jafar farewell. She made herself look up, smile as her father expected her to, and depart. There was something wrong about that. Her father should have stayed, or brought in someone else to serve as a chaperone. It was against all propriety and custom for her to be left alone with a man when she was still unwed. She should … she should be leaving.

"Jasmine."

Jafar's voice startled her out of her odd reverie, and she looked up to see —

His staff. The one that he always carried.

With glowing red eyes.

She stared, transfixed, completely unable to look away. Jafar snapped his fingers, and the staff stayed put when he moved. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she shuddered involuntarily.

_You are aroused by Jafar's touch._

"You were staring," Jafar said, his lips brushing her ear. "At me. During the meal. Tell me why."

"I desire you." The words came without any thought, and they seemed both foreign and wholly _right._

"Are you aroused, Jasmine?"

There should have been something wrong about this whole situation, but … "Yes."

"By my presence." One hand slid down her dress, touching her bare skin. She shivered. "By my touch."

"Yes." Her hand had moved of its own volition, completing the journey down and past her layers of clothing.

"The light, Jasmine. Tell me what it does to you."

"It makes … it makes me feel good. Relaxed."

"I'm so very glad you said that." Jafar lifted her arms up, then removed her top, and undid her bra. "It means it's working as I intended it to. It means that every word that comes from your mouth will be true to your ears. Isn't that right?"

Jasmine made a sound that might have been agreement. She wasn't entirely sure. It was becoming very hard to think about anything.

Jafar slid his hands up from her waist, fingers trailing across the sensitive skin of her stomach. Jasmine wanted to close her eyes to enjoy it more fully, but that would involve shutting out the light, and … and she wanted both.

The glow intensified, filling her vision with warm red light. She could almost feel it reaching to her mind. "Every word that comes from your mouth will be true to your ears."

"Every …" it was an effort to get the words out, but it was important. She knew that. "Every word that comes from my mouth will be true to my ears." Her voice sounded strangely light, resonant.

"Good." Jafar's hands cupped her breasts, and she sighed happily. "Let me tell you how it is going to be, my Jasmine, loveliest of all flowers. You will be unable to stop thinking about me. You will watch me, especially when I am flirting with other women. You will realize that none of them are good enough for me. None of them are worthy of being my true partner. None are strong enough, smart enough, brave enough, to stand by my side."

"Th… they aren't…"

"That's all right." He kissed the side of her neck. Her fingers paused inside her as his lips lingered, moved lower, towards her collarbone. "Too many words. I know, and I am sorry for that. _They aren't worthy of me."_

"They aren't worthy of you."

He squeezed her breasts, hard enough that her fingers halted once more as she gasped, leaning into the touch. "Remember that. Every time you see them with me… remember that. They aren't worthy."

"They aren't worthy." It was easier to say the words, despite her mind being completely consumed by the sensations of her body. Her lips seemed to be detached from the rest of her now, imbued with a kind of power. It was… it was almost exhilarating.

"You will remember the words I said to your father. The description of my partner. You will realize that it could be you. It _should_ be you."

"It should be me."

" _Again,_ Jasmine. Feel your desire grow as you say the words."

Her fingers were frantically encircling her nub, her mouth still moving seemingly of its own accord. "They aren't worthy. It should be me. They aren't worthy. It should be me. It should … it should …" Jasmine let out a long moan as she surrendered to the bliss of the orgasm. "Jafar! Oh, _Jafar!_ "

She became vaguely aware of his heavy breathing, still so close to her ear. He had released her breasts sometime during her orgasm, his hands now resting atop her arms. Her eyes felt so tired, but she knew they would not close so long as the light still shone on them.

Jafar moved out from behind the chair, long hands reaching down to undo the ties around his waist. He let first his pants, then his smallclothes fall away. Jasmine stared at his erect penis with wonder, watched how it bobbed as he stepped forward. He lifted one hand and crooked a finger at her, and her legs carried her forward, knees hitting the floor. His penis was right in front of her mouth. So thick.

"Taste it," Jafar said, and she did, feeling an unexpected shiver of delight as her lips closed around the head. His hand reached down, tangling in her loose hair, pushing her forward and then pulling her back. His grip was strong, but not rough. "Like so, Jasmine. Do not worry." He released her hair, stroking a finger against her cheek. "You will learn."

The red light shone brightly on her face as Jasmine moved her head back and forth, still feeling nothing but complete arousal in Jafar's presence. Unbidden, the words he had told her to say earlier floated up from the depths of her mind. _It should be me. It_ should _be me._

* * *

Jasmine's twentieth birthday featured no fewer than seven foreign nobles showing up to be considered. It was an effort to pay attention to them as she knew she should, when all she wanted to do was look at Jafar.

He was wearing his usual mixture of black and red, but there was something about the way that _these_ clothes in particular hung off his body. His lean, muscled body. Jafar worked twice as hard as everyone else in the palace, and it showed.

When she compared her would-be suitors to him, they all came up lacking.

Jasmine indulged in the impulse that had been plaguing her all night and looked over at Jafar. He was surrounded, as he had been recently, by the women of the court. A Grand Vizier was about as good of a catch as any of them could hope to make. They were all brainless airheads, spoiled daughters who had never had to work for anything in their life. None of them were worthy of Jafar.

She wrenched her gaze away and spoke coldly to the man in front of her. "I have heard a lot of talk from you, but I fear that is all you possess. Talk." She waved a dismissive hand. "Begone from my presence." It was a tremendously pretentious thing to say, but she had learned that the nobles expected things like that. Indeed, some of them refused to leave unless she was horribly blunt.

True to her almost joking comment, her father had begun to plan her wedding for a year's time. She would need to pick someone by then. Preferably not too close to the date; she wanted to be sure that she could be compatible with whoever she married.

A wave of anger lead her to rise and pace out of the ballroom. Her father watched her go with concerned eyes, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before exiting out into the gardens. They were all so _stupid_. The men courting her. The women hoping to be courted by Jafar. It was everything she hated about the nobility. None of them were _real._

"It should be me," she whispered. A thought that had been building inside her for — ah, she didn't know how long. She reveled in how it felt to bring it out into the open. Yes. This was right. "It should be me."

She was in love with Jafar, as preposterous as that idea seemed. It was completely inappropriate. Marriage to a foreign noble would strengthen ties with that nation, which would make Agrabah stronger. It was her duty to make the nation strong.

And yet. Her father had insisted that she be able to choose. _He_ had chosen, had fallen in love at first sight if his tales were to be believed.

 _It should be him._ Now that the thought had come to her, she could not put it aside. What better partner for her than the man who understood and loved her country as much as she did? What better way to show that she would rule wisely than to bind her father's right hand to her? It had been centuries since the last reigning Sultana. If she married a foreigner, it could be construed as giving too much influence to outsiders. She knew there were many that did not believe a woman capable of ruling on her own merits.

Jafar was _perfect_. She remembered the words that he had used when talking about the kind of woman he would marry, words that had haunted too many restless nights.

Jasmine sunk onto the bench and buried her head in her hands. She was rationalizing. Her father, and far too many others, were expecting her to wed someone of noble blood. Despite how often she dismissed the idea that one must be born noble to rule, she had still accepted that she would probably have to take a nobly born man for her husband.

Not to mention that she had no idea whether Jafar would agree to marry her, if she asked. He had been very nearly ignoring her as of late, keeping his interactions with her purely professional, his behavior utterly above reproach.

"If only," she whispered. "Ah, if only."

* * *

From that night on, Jasmine put more effort into finding a husband from among her suitors. She would find a way to deal with her feelings for Jafar. Perhaps sending him away was the best option. Perhaps he would not haunt her thoughts and her dreams so often when he was gone.

Her erotic dreams were getting more and more intense, and they always featured Jafar. He kissed her all over before entering her. He showed her how to use her mouth to please him. He told her how well suited they were for one another. He promised they would be together soon.

Wishful thinking, all of it.

Months passed, and Jasmine could not bring herself to choose. Months passed, and the preparations for her wedding grew more intense, her father more agitated at what he perceived as sheer stubbornness. She wanted to tell him, but held back, unsure of how he would feel about the idea of Jafar as a son-in-law.

On a night when she was but two months shy of her twenty-first birthday, Jasmine was in the library, combing through all the documents that mentioned requirements for royal consorts. If she was going to find a way to marry Jafar after all, she would have to be on absolute, firm ground about his suitability.

It was a relief to find that there was not any actual law, just centuries of precedent. Well. Precedent could be overturned. She would find a way to make this work. She _would_.

But how could she do it when Jafar seemed completely indifferent to her? He would turn her down. He would humiliate her. He would tell her father of her girlish fantasies and everything would be ruined.

Jasmine's hand closed on a book that she didn't remember pulling from the shelves. She frowned as she looked at the cover.

_On The Use Of Magics To Cloud And Alter The Mind_

She flipped through it, pausing when she saw a familiar outline. _Jafar's staff._ Jasmine read through the description, heart pounding. _The serpent's head contains a magical gem which confuses the mind and makes it highly suggestible. It does not require that the wielder have any magic of their own. The suggestion is potent, but will wear off over time. If one wishes to make the effects permanent, one must use the serpent over an extended period of time._

Her hand rested on the image, a mixture of dread and excitement bubbling up in her.

She could use the staff.

She could use it to make Jafar fall in love with her.

She could use it on her father if he protested.

It was _wrong._ It went against everything that she had been taught about the use of magic. And yet the idea called to her, so strongly, a yearning inside her that made her want to put all caution aside and run to grab the staff _now._

Jasmine forced herself to be calm and think through matters. She would probably not have to use the staff on her father. He would be relieved that she would _have_ a husband, and he trusted Jafar completely. The staff would be a last resort if all other tactics failed.

Could she take the same tactic with Jafar? Could she approach him honestly, bare her feelings to him, and save magic for the moment when he broke her heart?

 _No._ She wouldn't be able to bear it if he rejected her. She would always remember that, remember that she had forced this upon him.

But if she used the staff right away, she was _still_ forcing it upon him.

Jasmine read the description again. _Suggestible._ She could be subtle about it. Yes. She would hold the staff in her hands, as though playing with it idly, and once she activated the magic Jafar would hang on her every word. She would remind him it was for the good of the country that she wed. She would convince him that he was the best person to stand by her side. Love … well, she could plant the seeds for love. She did not need to overwhelm him from the start.

When she ran through the plan in her head, she tried not to feel astounded at how manipulative the whole thing was. It was _wrong_. She should not even be contemplating this.

_It should be him._

_I desire Jafar._

Jasmine rose, putting the book in the middle of a stack of volumes she had already been planning to take back to her rooms. She would hide it there, and then she would go to Jafar's room and take the staff. If he was not there, she would wait for him to come back.

By the end of the night, Jafar would be hers.

* * *

Jafar heard the sound of someone entering his bedroom and smiled. He'd timed it perfectly.

The idea of prodding Jasmine into using the staff on _him_ had come one night when he'd snuck into her room, yet again, to ensure that her obsession with him continued to grow — and to have his own desires tended to. Jasmine was becoming a very skilled lover, so delightfully responsive under the influence of his staff. He only had to suggest a thing to her once before she incorporated it into her range of techniques.

Jafar had looked at her, utterly drained, utterly content, and wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such treatment. To have his own desires and feelings amplified a hundred times over. He had been watching her struggle with her feelings for him, watching the time tick away, wondering when she would make her move.

And then it had all come together in a single flash of brilliance. Like everything else, he would tell her when to make her move. He would dangle an irresistible opportunity in front of her, a chance to get what she wanted. He would receive a night of pure bliss for his troubles, and in the morning, he would ensure that she never laid hands on the staff again.

It would be the perfect end to his long, hidden seduction of Princess Jasmine.

Jafar remembered how he had sat next to her bed with the staff shining its light on her face, telling her the thoughts that would run through her head when she came across the book. Convincing her that she would be convinced it was the only way to have him as her husband.

He made himself lie still, feigning sleep, savoring the anticipation of when she used the staff to convince him of something he already felt.

* * *

Jasmine found the staff easily enough, and was relieved to see that Jafar was in his bed, asleep. Her hands itched, and she was halfway to the bed before she stopped herself. Now that she was in his presence, her desire for him was nearly overwhelming. She yearned to touch his bare skin, to run her hands over his chest and take him in hand —

The moan that slipped out of her sounded altogether too loud in the otherwise quiet chamber. She clapped her hands over her mouth, and the staff clattered to the floor.

* * *

There was no point in feigning sleep anymore. Jafar lifted his head and blinked his eyes as though waking from sleep. "Princess?" he said after a moment, hoping he appeared suitably taken aback. "This is — highly improper. What are you doing here?"

* * *

 _Now or never,_ Jasmine thought, as she laid one hand on the flared hood of the serpent and _willed_ it to activate.

The eyes flared to life, shining a warm red glow on Jafar's face. The magic coursed through her, and

she

_remembered_

* * *

 

Jafar felt himself be taken in by the staff's magic, a calm lassitude settling into him, a soft certainty that everything was fine, that whatever happened now was perfectly normal and not alarming at all.

"Jafar," she said. Her voice seemed more melodious and resonant than ever, and confident as well. "You will heed my words and know them to be true."

His cock stiffened fully at the tone of authority she used. He hadn't been sure of how she would react. This … this was _wonderful_. It showed he had been right all along, that the two of them belonged together. She had been given a taste of _real_ power and she was using it, gloriously.

"Princess…?" He let himself sound puzzled, but not alarmed.

She walked over to the bed, reached out with one hand while holding the staff with the other, and pushed him back down. He thought that he should at least be appearing to fight it, but her presence here, the embodiment of years of fantasies, combined with the magic of his own staff meant he could do nothing but stare at her.

Jasmine straddled him roughly, pinning him down. She raised the staff and then let go. It bobbed once, then settled in the air next to her, still trained on his face.

"I should kill you," she hissed. "I should slit your throat and let Rajah feast on your corpse for what you have _done_. How you have _manipulated_ me. The liberties you have taken with my body."

Fear jolted through him. No. This was wrong. He tried to wrench his head away from the light, but it held him in place. He was helpless beneath its inexorable gaze. He wanted nothing more than to keep looking.

"But knowing …" she shuddered, and ran her hands across his chest. She had never touched him like this before. He rather liked it. "Knowing," she continued, "doesn't undo what's already been done. I desire you, Jafar. That's what you told me. Over and over again you told me. Killing you would be killing a part of myself." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, echoing all the times he had done that to her. "You were right. There is no one else for me. Not anymore."

Jafar finally found his voice. "What …"

"I do to you what you planned to do to me." She kissed him, her mouth hard and demanding, and he couldn't help but respond. He was _so_ hard, and the light … the light felt so good…

"You love me. With every fiber of your being, you love me. You love me, Jafar."

It was a struggled to make himself speak. "I — always —"

"No." She cut his half-formed explanation off by placing a finger on his lips. He looked up at her, at the light. It was hard to … to think. "You were obsessed with me. You saw me as a prize to be won. Not any more, Jafar. You're my prize now. You will be my perfect husband. Devoted, adoring, obedient to my every word."

"Jas—mine." This wasn't supposed to be happening. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You can't fight this, Jafar. The staff runs on desire. It makes you _want._ And it works so, so much better when it has a completely empty mind to work with." She smiled. "It's even better when the commands line up with what is already there."

Jasmine shifted herself backwards, hands closing around his aching cock. For a moment, he was convinced he was going to spill himself then and there. "You are _mine._ " The word seemed to echo through him. _Mine. Mine._ She was claiming him. And she was right, he _had_ already wanted to be hers and hers alone.

"Say it, Jafar. Tell me what you know to be true. You are mine."

"I…" He was dangerously close to sliding under. Jafar fought to keep his mind clear, fought to ignore the echoes of her words. _Hers. Hers._

Jasmine's voice dropped, her fingertip tracing a circle around the exquisitely sensitive tip of his cock. "When you say it, I'll take you inside me. I'll lose myself in delight and scream your name when you make me climax. And you will know that I am yours."

He forgot that he was trying to resist. He forgot that she had turned the tables on him. _I am yours._ The words burned, fueling his desire, pushing him past the point of resistance.

"Yours," he gasped, and she took him.

* * *

Jasmine married Jafar on her twenty-first birthday.

She hadn't needed to use the staff to get her father to approve of the marriage. He was absolutely delighted that "his two MOST favorite people" would find happiness together. The nobles either feared Jafar too much to speak out about it, or were happy that their Princess would be married and thus, inevitably secure her succession with an heir. The commoners, apparently, saw this as a fantastic love story with a happy ending — the best kind.

During her exhaustive search of the archives, Jasmine had unearthed a document describing a so-called "noble tradition" whereby a high-born couple consummated their marriage in public. It was not something that she normally would have considered, but then she thought about how Jafar always took such care to appear polished and posed before the court, and …

And now he rested on the bed that had been placed out on the steps of the palace, with the entire court and no few of the city's residents watching eagerly. Jafar's gaze was fixed on her, as it always was. She had made absolutely sure that she would always be the center of Jafar's world. She had also been _very_ strict in letting him know that he was never, under any circumstances, to use the magic of the staff again. She'd gone so far as to have a perfectly ordinary replica constructed for him to carry, while the real one remained hidden in her rooms.

Jasmine strode gracefully up to the bed. She wore a gown of the finest and sheerest light green silk, a construction that clung to her body from the waist up and flared out from the waist down. The outlines of her underclothes were clearly visible — partially because she had chosen a particularly rich forest green, for contrast. Jafar wore white, as was traditional for one who was marrying into the royal family.

"Strip," Jasmine commanded. Jafar removed his clothes obediently and lay down on the bed. Jasmine pulled off her panties and flung them out into the crowd, ignoring the roar that arose as people shoved to try and claim them.

Jafar was already erect, despite the crowd and despite the fact that she hadn't even touched him. The crowd murmured excitedly, speculating about what that said about their relationship. Jasmine smiled. That was another thing she had made _very_ sure of. Jafar was almost painfully aroused and would get no release until she climaxed.

Jasmine gave Jafar's chest an almost loving pat before positioning herself just so, and … she slid down, exclaiming delightedly at the familiar sensation of Jafar inside her. The crowd roared its approval, and she shuddered from a thrill that had nothing to do with how Jafar's body felt. She could get used to this type of power. She could even come to like it. But there was a danger in liking it too much. She need only look at her devoted, obedient husband to see the perils of being too caught up in scheming. Perhaps some experimentation was in order — testing her own limits, as it were.

Regretfully, she put those thoughts aside, and turned her focus to giving the audience a good show.


End file.
